


though i have to say goodbye (remember me)

by skywalking-across-the-galaxy (BadWolfGirl01)



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Bittersweet, Declarations Of Love, Everything is Beautiful and Everything Hurts, F/M, Fluff, Kissing, Literal Sleeping Together, Love Confessions, Mandalorian Wars, Melancholy, POV Obi-Wan Kenobi, Padawan Obi-Wan, Pre-Star Wars: The Phantom Menace, Star-crossed, and it turned into this angsty mess, and someone gave me the prompt of huddling for warmth in the rain, but literally all the banter just makes me SAD, it's not even that angsty, look i got in a mood to write obitine
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-18
Updated: 2019-01-18
Packaged: 2019-10-12 01:03:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,230
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17457638
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BadWolfGirl01/pseuds/skywalking-across-the-galaxy
Summary: The first time they’d kissed had been in a situation rather like this one, he muses, snapping his lightsaber up to deflect a stray blaster bolt. A lot of mud (he’s grown very tired of mud in the last few months), rain, a fog that dulled everything down to a muffled whisper of horror. Satine had been crying over the body of one of her warriors, struggling to hold back the flow of blood from a clearly-fatal wound with nothing more than pale fingers and durasteel will. He’d wrapped his arms around her and tugged her into his chest, tried to pull her away, and she’d kissed him instead.He’d stayed with her that night, and most every night since. Master Qui-Gon has yet to comment on the arrangement, although Obi-Wan knows his Master has noticed - it helps with the nightmares, for both of them. And Qui-Gon probably appreciates having a tent to himself again.[or:  a brief look at Obi-Wan and Satine, during the Mandalorian Civil War]





	though i have to say goodbye (remember me)

**Author's Note:**

> note: i played loose with canon and figured it made more sense if Death Watch had been an older, more organized movement during the Mandalorian Civil War. i'm not familiar with Legends/EU canon for the mandos, so apologies for any inaccuracies; this is simply my take on Satine before she became a pacifist.
> 
> "Remember me  
> Though I have to say goodbye  
> Remember me  
> Don't let it make you cry  
> For even if I'm far away, I hold you in my heart  
> I sing a secret song to you each night we are apart  
> Remember me  
> Though I have to travel far  
> Remember me  
> Each time you hear a sad guitar
> 
> Know that I'm with you the only way that I can be  
> Until you're in my arms again  
> Remember me"

It’s been raining for days, now.

The rain mixes with the mud and blood and ashes of battle, turns an already-grey and depressing scene into something straight out of a nightmare. The sound of grown men and women moaning in pain means this really  _ could _ be one of Obi-Wan’s all-too-frequent nightmares - he knows it isn’t, knows this is just yet another one of the small skirmishes that’ve been occurring over the month they’ve been fighting to retake Concordia, knows also that this scene will join his nightmares tonight, when he sleeps. If he sleeps.

Concordia has been in Death Watch’s fierce grasp for a long time, but since the faction seized control of Sundari at the beginning of this latest civil war, toppling Satine from her newly-inherited seat as Duchess, Concordia has become even more violent. It’s the seat of Death Watch’s power, the bastion of strength from which the violent faction maintains its chokehold over Mandalore. Obi-Wan, Qui-Gon, and Satine herself have been traveling the galaxy trying to throw Death Watch’s assassins off their tail and gathering allies. There are still a few True Mandalorians who recognize Satine’s legitimacy and who are willing to fight for her, despite how dangerous it’s become.

And despite the obvious fact that the longer this war goes on, the less Satine  _ fights. _

She’s fighting now, on Obi-Wan’s right somewhere, in blue and green armor; Master Qui-Gon will be off on her other side, more than likely. They are not here to fight a civil war for the Mandos, only to protect the Duchess while she regains her throne - protectors, not soldiers. Thus their duty calls for them to stay close to her, even though Satine is certainly more than capable of protecting herself.

In the beginning, Obi-Wan had pretended it was only his duty that kept him so aware of her position on the battlefield, whenever they fought; now, some ten months into this extended mission, into this  _ war, _ he’s willing to admit the real reason. It’s attachment, plain and simple, and though he should shove the emotions down, he can’t seem to manage it. He- cares for Satine, deeply, and he has tried to release that  _ care _ to the Force, but it seems rather reluctant to let go.

The first time they’d kissed had been in a situation rather like this one, he muses, snapping his lightsaber up to deflect a stray blaster bolt. A lot of mud (he’s grown  _ very _ tired of mud in the last few months), rain, a fog that dulled everything down to a muffled whisper of horror. Satine had been crying over the body of one of her warriors, struggling to hold back the flow of blood from a clearly-fatal wound with nothing more than pale fingers and durasteel will. He’d wrapped his arms around her and tugged her into his chest, tried to pull her away, and she’d kissed him instead.

He’d stayed with her that night, and most every night since. Master Qui-Gon has yet to comment on the arrangement, although Obi-Wan  _ knows _ his Master has noticed - it helps with the nightmares, for both of them. And Qui-Gon probably appreciates having a tent to himself again.

Speaking of - Qui-Gon is suddenly at Obi-Wan’s side, green saber deactivating inn a flash. “Obi-Wan, we’re pulling back and returning to camp. The Duchess has asked me to inform the rest of her warriors - please escort her back ahead of us.”

“Yes, Master,” Obi-Wan says, nodding, and reaches out into the Force for Satine’s Force-signature, ducking off to his right and finding Satine with blasters in hand, taking cover behind a tree. “Satine, Master Qui-Gon asked me to-”

She cuts him off.  _ “I _ asked for you,” she says, soft, holsters one of her blasters and reaches for his free hand. “Otherwise you’ll be up planning strategies all night, like the last three nights.”

Obi-Wan lets her take his hand, tug him back in the direction of their hopefully-still-hidden temporary camp, but he frowns at her. “We’re trying to make sure you stay safe,  _ Duchess.” _

“Don’t  _ Duchess _ me, Obi-Wan,” Satine snaps, and then she sighs and softens. “Obi, the simple truth is I don’t sleep if you don’t, and that’s only getting worse. The dreams…”

Dreams.  _ Nightmares, _ more like. Obi-Wan sighs, says, “I’m sorry, Satine, I- hadn’t thought about it that way.” His Duchess-  _ Satine  _ needs to sleep more than she does  _ anyway, _ lack of sleep kills people in combat zones, and he  _ knows _ she sleeps better when he’s there.

They’d discovered that when she’d cried herself nearly to sleep in his arms, after she’d kissed him, when she’d begged him to stay and he hadn’t been able to tell her no (hadn’t  _ wanted _ to; there were cracks in her blue, blue eyes and the weight of her in his arms had been a reassurance of  _ safety, _ and in any case he cares too much about her to leave her to face her demons alone - she is strong, but her slim shoulders still crumple under the  _ weight _ of everything she’s seen). She’d woken up in the middle of the night - woken  _ him _ up, he’d been asleep curled around her smaller, lithe form when she’d jolted into awakeness with a sharp motion that startled him awake too - from nightmares and he’d held her as she whispered of blood and pain and screams, and he’d kissed her forehead and ran his fingers through her tangled blonde hair until she’d fallen asleep again, tucked against his chest.

“I know,” Satine says, quiet, and he’s sure she’s smiling at him behind her helmet, even though he can’t understand  _ why _ \- he’s been disregarding her health even when he  _ knows _ she needs him. She’s too kind to him, always has been.

“You’re too kind, Satine,” he says, softly, tightens his hand on hers.

She shakes her head, and he can imagine the look on her face: a bit of a smile, bittersweet, a softness in her blue eyes that both terrifies him and pulls him in. “Never, my dear Obi,” she says, huffs a bit of a laugh. “I don’t think I’ve been kind  _ enough _ to you, for everything you’ve done for me.”

“Satine,” Obi-Wan says, smiling just a touch, “I fear if you don’t  _ stop _ being so kind to me, I’ll be the death of you.”

She throws her head back and  _ laughs, _ at that, shakes her head. “You’re my Knight in shining armor, Obi-Wan, I rather think you’ll always be the one racing in at the last second to save me from whatever danger I find myself in - whether I  _ need _ saving or not.”

Ah, yes, that. Obi-Wan winces a bit, reaches up to absently twist his padawan braid around his finger. “I was  _ worried, _ Satine,” he says, “and they’d taken your blasters-”

“I am  _ still _ quite competent at hand-to-hand,” his Duchess says, “which you  _ knew. _ And you chose to rush in all hells-bent anyway, and nearly got yourself killed in the process. Luckily, I  _ am _ good at hand-to-hand. Unlike you.”

He grimaces, sighs. “The Jedi focus more on lightsaber technique than hand-to-hand combat, it’s true, but I  _ did  _ rescue you.”

_ “I _ rescued  _ you,” _ she corrects.

“Only after I rescued you first!”

Satine laughs again, shaking her head. “My dear Obi-Wan, don’t be  _ ridiculous.” _

“I am  _ never _ ridiculous,” he says, injured.  _ Almost never, _ at the very least. He’s sure he can count his ridiculous moments on one hand. “If anything,  _ you’re _ the ridiculous one in this-” He fumbles, a moment.

“In this what, Obi?” she asks, softening, and he shakes his head.

“Never mind.” Attachment is forbidden, and while it’s undeniable that he  _ is _ very, very attached to Satine, he can at least try to- make this all easier on them both, for the day he leaves. Because  _ that _ is inevitable - the closer they get to retaking Sundari, to restoring Satine to her throne, the closer they get to the day when Obi-Wan must return to Coruscant, to the Temple, to the Code.

So it is better he doesn’t- that they don’t talk too much about  _ this. _

After a few more minutes, they crest the top of a small hill and drop down into a sheltered valley, in which Satine’s warriors have pitched tents, crowded together so there’s barely enough room to walk in between - there are a lot of tents (not as many as they need) and not a lot of space. Obi-Wan drops Satine’s hand, although he knows the rumors have already spread through most (if not all) of her men - after all, they’ve been sharing a tent for nearly a month now, and some of them saw her kiss him. It’s made him the butt of many a joke, but he thinks the teasing is good-natured, and means that the warriors are accepting him as one of their own; it’s certainly better than the cool silences and wary looks and defensive postures he’d  _ been _ receiving.

The Mandalorians don’t trust the Jedi. That Satine reached out to the Jedi for aid is a statement to just how much she is willing to change.

“Go sit down, get out of your armor,” Obi-Wan says, quietly, as they thread through the tents. “I’ll go get some food.”

Satine nods, and he can feel her relief, echoing out into the Force. He’s noticed, lately, that her hands shake when she puts on her armor in the mornings; that she strips out of it as quickly as she can at night. She’s spoken to him in a soft whisper about the horror of war and the cost of it, about  _ change, _ late at night when they’re the only ones awake (besides the night watch), when neither of them can close their eyes, when the dark feels too pressing and close.

He thinks he should bring it up to Master Qui-Gon, at some point - but not yet. He’s not sure the reason for his reluctance, but he thinks… maybe Satine should be the one to mention it, not him. 

Satine turns off to find their tent, already reaching up to pull her helmet off her head, and Obi-Wan watches her go for a moment before shaking himself and striding quickly over to a small camp stove, filling two thermoses with some kind of hearty stew. They cook when they can, although there’s a generous supply of field rations often mixed in. He exchanges nods and the occasional tired smile with the  _ verde _ standing around the cookstove, holding gloved hands out to its meager warmth, greets them all with a brief,  _ “Su cuygar,”  _ and makes for his and Satine’s tent, the thermoses warm in his cold hands.

The warriors had been surprised (and pleased, he’d thought) when they’d learned Satine had taught him (him, and not Master Qui-Gon, and there’s probably a metaphor or something there if he looked) Mando’a. The first time he’d greeted them in their own language, he’d seen  _ warmth _ in a few of their smiles. He thinks that’s when they’d begun to accept him.

He hunches deeper into his cloak against the pervasive cold and ever-present rain (it’s the wet season on Concordia, apparently, and while that’s a good thing because it shows that the moon’s ecosystem is still stable, despite all the damage that’s been done to it, it’s kriffing  _ miserable), _ increases his pace a little. He wants to sit with his Satine and hold her and not think about much of anything at all.

It’s so much easier to meditate with her Force-signature around, he’s found, and he steadfastly refuses to consider what will happen when she’s no longer here to stabilize him.

Obi-Wan reaches out and pulls aside the tent flaps, once he arrives, ducks inside and immediately lets out a sigh of relief - Satine’s turned the heat lamp on full power, and these tents are well-made, so it’s  _ several _ degrees warmer inside than it is out in the mist and drizzle. Satine herself has already piled her armor haphazardly in one corner and is burrowed beneath both of their blanket allotment, golden hair tangled and sticking to her dirt-smudged face and falling in her blue eyes.

She’s never looked so beautiful.

He smiles, holds one of the thermoses out to her, and she pulls one arm out from underneath the blankets to take it, with a smile and a soft,  _ “Vor’e,” _ and he turns and closes up the tent flaps, securely, sets his own thermos down and pulls off his soaked cloak, tosses it without regard into a corner and sits down. Tugs his boots off, grimacing at the fact that even his  _ socks _ are damp, and pulls the offending socks off as well.

“You going to hog all the blankets again tonight?” he asks, lightly, teasing.

Satine gives him a  _ look, _ fierce. “Not if you come  _ here,” _ she says,  _ demands _ more like.

“Bossy,” he says. But he scoots under the blankets anyway, hissing a bit when she presses her  _ cold, kriff, _ toes against his calf, reaches for his thermos because he’s  _ hungry. _

“You know you love it,” she says, quiet, under her breath, and Obi-Wan’s fingers tighten around the thermos.

He does, doesn’t he? And that’s the problem.

“Varek thinks we’ll be able to flush out the last of the Death Watch forces tomorrow,” Satine continues at a normal tone, after a moment, takes a long drink from her thermos. “Once we take Concordia, we’ll move to Mandalore itself.”

“You’re almost home,” Obi-Wan says, lightly, puts his free arm around her shoulders and tugs her against him. “You won’t be needing your  _ shining Jedi Knight _ anymore, then.” He means it to be light, a joke, and while the  _ tone _ is right it tears something in his heart to say.

“Don’t  _ say _ things like that,” Satine says, suddenly  _ vulnerable, _ and he looks down to see her face turned up towards him, her eyes  _ aching. _ “I’ll always need you, Obi.”

The statement hits  _ hard, _ and he swallows, sets his thermos down so he can lift a shaking hand to her cheek, ghost his fingers lightly over her cheekbone. Her eyes flutter shut at the touch and something inside him  _ twists, _ hard, squeezes a tear onto his cheek. “My Duchess,” he says, very soft. “I know, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t be flippant.”

She opens her eyes, swallows visibly, says, “Be flippant, Obi-Wan. Be lighthearted. Joke, tease, but- not about us. Not about  _ this. _ You- you are the only part of this war I  _ don’t _ wish I could forget.”

_ “Satine,” _ he breathes, leans down and presses his forehead against hers, closes his eyes against the wave of emotion rising in his chest, making his lungs seize up.

“I know you must follow your Code,” she says, “and I know- We both know this won’t last. Can’t last.” He wishes she wouldn’t say  _ that. _

“Please don’t, Satine,” he says, barely a whisper. “Not right now,  _ cyar’ika, _ please.”

She goes still in his arms, then says, in a rush, “I love you.”

Obi-Wan  _ freezes, _ doesn’t mean to. He’s known- known how she felt, of course, how could he not? Her presence in the Force is the steady constant he’s used to center himself for months, now. But hearing her  _ say it _ is something different entirely, and they’d had an almost-unspoken agreement not to- to make promises like this, because  _ love _ is a promise neither of them can keep, in the end. Because she will go back to her planet and her people, and he to his Temple and his lessons, and nowhere in there is there space for  _ them. _

But he  _ aches, _ suddenly, feels the words rising in his throat, choking him, and he forces out, “Satine-”

“Don’t,” she pleads, pulling back a little bit to meet his eyes. “I know you can’t say anything in return, Obi, I just- I wanted you to know.”

“I knew,” he manages, closes his eyes a moment. “Satine…”

He wants to tell her. To give her this moment, even though he can’t give her the future. So he forces his eyes open again, swipes his thumb across the too-dark skin under her eye - she’s crying, a little - and smiles at her. “I can’t give you what you deserve,” he says, low, “but- I do love you, Satine.”

She kisses him.

It’s not entirely unexpected - Satine has always been a woman of action, when words don’t suffice. What’s more unexpected is the  _ desperation _ of the kiss, the way she twines her arms around his neck and slips a hand into his hair like she’s afraid he’s going to disappear. He kisses her back, of course he does, breaks the kiss only when his lungs start to burn, tilts his forehead against hers.

_ “Ni kartayli gar darasuum,” _ she whispers against his lips, and he huffs a soft breath, maybe a laugh.

_ “Ner darasuum cyar’ika,” _ he says, in return, not-quite-teasing, and she kisses him again before twisting around and curling up against his chest like she belongs there, inches away from his heart.

She does, he thinks.

“We should finish eating and try to sleep,” he says, after a moment, and she nods, picks up her thermos of soup again - he does the same, although he can’t resist pressing a soft kiss to her temple before he starts to eat.  _ His _ Satine, still, for just a little longer.

“Always looking out for me,” she says, but her voice is soft rather than irate.

“It’s my job,” he says. “My  _ mandate, _ in fact. I would be failing in my role as your Jedi protector if I wasn’t.”

She laughs, light, swallows more of her dinner. “And we couldn’t have that, now could we?”

“It would be a  _ scandal,” _ he says, kisses her nose - making her glare up at him. “And I’m too young to have my reputation stained that way, Satine.”

“Ahhh, of course,” she says. “No, indeed, we couldn’t have that. Although, I rather think you need someone looking after you as diligently as you mother-hen me.”

Obi-Wan snorts. “I have Master Qui-Gon,” he says, carelessly, “and I expect he’ll be mother-henning me until the day he dies.”

“You know, I suspect you’re right,” she says, eyes sparkling. “Well, hurry up and finish your dinner, I want to get some sleep. Tomorrow’s going to be important.”

“You  _ could _ lay down without me,” he points out, and she raises an eyebrow.

“I’m far too comfortable to bother,” she says, and promptly leans her head on his shoulder. “Will you braid my hair in the morning, Obi-Wan?”

“Of course,” he says. Takes a moment to swallow down what’s left of his dinner before setting the thermos aside, wrapping both arms tight around Satine. “Come on, my Duchess, let’s sleep.”

She just huffs a soft agreement into his shoulder, so he eases them both down, uses a touch of the Force to dim the lantern and another touch to tug the blankets more securely around them. Master Qui-Gon would scold, likely, for using the Force in such a way, but he doesn’t want to let go.

It’s a failing, perhaps, but right now, when all he can think of is  _ soon I have to leave, _ he can’t bring himself to care.

So he buries his face in her hair, whispers, “I love you,” again, soft enough he’s not sure she’ll hear, and holds on so very, very tight.

Maybe, if he holds tight enough, he can forget that he’ll eventually have to let go.

**Author's Note:**

> Mando'a translations:
> 
> verde: soldiers
> 
> su cuygar: hello, lit. i'm glad you're alive
> 
> vor'e: thanks
> 
> cyar'ika: sweetheart
> 
> ni kartayli gar darasuum: i love you, lit. i hold you in my heart forever
> 
> ner darasuum cyar'ika: lit. my eternal sweetheart


End file.
